


The Top of the Tower

by SouthernContinentSkies



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Aphrodisiacs, Bondage, Edging, Face Slapping, Forced Arousal, Interrogation, M/M, One Of These Things Is Not Like The Others, Orgasm Delay, Power Dynamics, Sensation Play, Spanking, Superior/Subordinate, Unwilling Arousal, Workplace Coercion, Worldbuilding, i'm sorry i couldn't help myself, it is like half worldbuilding, ropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:54:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24954109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthernContinentSkies/pseuds/SouthernContinentSkies
Summary: The Master of Intelligence has been a loyal and hard-working servant of the Emperor for years. If he decides that one of his newest and most attractive subordinates needs a bit of "individualized instruction," who could possibly object?
Relationships: OMC/OMC, Spymaster/Trainee Learning to Resist Aphrodisiacs
Comments: 3
Kudos: 64
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	The Top of the Tower

**Author's Note:**

  * For [impilii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/impilii/gifts).



Evening was falling on the vast city of Adarna, the blaze of sunset on one horizon giving way to the inexorable march of deeper blue from the other. Between them, in the city center, many of the windows in the impressive stone buildings that housed the wheels of the Empire’s vast bureaucracy stil blazed with light, despite the hour. The most ornate of these was, of course, the Imperial Palace, which rode low and vast along the riverbank, sprawling across four or five interlocking courtyards and several centuries of architectural history. The most striking feature of the skyline, however, was across the square: the Tower of Ravens, whose dozen stories stretched far above any other building in the city, and whose almost completely featureless exterior stood in stark contrast to the decorative excess of some of the more recent Ministerial constructions.

The only variation in the blank stone of the tower was one wide window, right at the top, facing away from the Imperial Palace and out over the rest of the city. As was intended, it gave the vague impression of an implacable overseeing eye. Behind it, Anton Tahros, the Imperial Master of Intelligence, sat in his office, watching the shadows lengthen over the roofs and terraces of the capital, spreading out below the Tower like an ink spill. 

In another setting, Tahros would have been unremarkable. His face was perhaps best described as “nondescript,” and his modestly cut dark hair would not have been out of place on any street in the city. With the right set of clothes, and the corresponding attitude, he might blend in with any crowd in the Empire - and in the earlier parts of his career, he had. If anything might have given him away, it would have been his eyes; they were sharp, almost cutting, even at rest, and their black depths sucked in observation and inference from their surroundings without giving anything back. Apart from these, the only indication of his occupation and position was the brooch of rank on the shoulder of his otherwise conservative tunic: a cluster of stylized eyes in bright silver, surrounded by the swords and stars that were the symbols of the Emperor.

It had been a very busy week for the Master of Intelligence. His agents had concluded several operations simultaneously: foiling three different assassination plots aimed at the Emperor’s various sons; detaining the leaders of a planned provincial rebellion; and finalizing the evidentiary exhibits for the former Lord Seluran’s fast-approaching trial for treason. Tahros, anticipating the crush, had scheduled one particularly special meeting for this evening, as the cherry on top of this string of successes. It would be an excellent present to himself, and he was certain that, in view of his own impeccable history of service and loyalty to the Empire, neither the Emperor nor the Council of Viziers would disagree - in the extremely unlikely event that it even came to their attention.

His eyes fell upon the file open on his desk. A sheaf of thin, ivory papers with close-set type formed the bulk of it, with the words “Operative - Domestic Affairs” at the top of each sheet in bold copperplate. It was the personnel file for one of the newest additions to the Tower, and the second most important prop in his upcoming meeting with the young man.

The son of a disgraced nobleman whose fortune had been largely confiscated by the Palace several years ago, Kyrol Allar had been trying to make his own way in the capital ever since. Begging and borrowing from more fortunate relatives had been his first choice, but those sources had dried up one by one, and Allar had been forced to contemplate increasingly unsavory options. The military and the government were, traditionally, the only acceptable occupations for the sons of the nobility; anything else was an admission of not-so-genteel poverty, with a corresponding reduction in status. Allar, who before his father’s arrest had been a mildly notorious libertine, had the disposition for neither, but too much pride for anything else. His first resort had been a sort of bohemian starving artistry - with an emphasis on starving. His second had been blackmail. 

Fortunately for Allar, his mastery of intrigue had turned out to be much better than his painting. His first target had been Lord Seluran, who had a sterling public reputation, but also several less respectable private habits. Tahros knew about all of those, of course - it was his job to keep tabs, and handles, on everyone in the Empire with enough clout to threaten the Emperor’s preferred balance of power - but Allar did not have a legion of informants at his disposal. Instead, he had turned to entrapment, hoping to seduce Lord Seluran into some sort of compromising situation on which he could later capitalize. 

This strategy was helped considerably by the fact that Allar was, flatly, gorgeous. He had the loosely curled dark hair common to many of the nobility, just long enough to fall into his eyes when unstyled, with languid brown eyes, a finely sculpted face, and a full, sensuous mouth. His features alone did not describe his full appeal, however. It was his attitude, or his affectation perhaps: some trick of his body language or posture that shifted his impression from “attractive youth” to “indecent proposal.” With a bit of concerted effort, better men than Lord Seluran would have been eating out of his hand, if only for a night.

(Tahros had approved Allar’s hiring sight unseen, on the strength of his deputy’s analysis and recommendation. Had he had a chance to meet the man first, he would only have signed the paperwork that much faster.)

Ultimately, Allar’s quest for compromising material on Lord Seluran had succeeded beyond his, or Tahros’s, wildest dreams. In the middle of a private tryst involving Allar, Lord Seluran, Lady Seluran’s senior maid, and a truly remarkable quantity of modified horse tack, Allar had managed to pocket several sheets of paper from Lord Seluran’s desk. He had no doubt been hoping for salacious personal correspondence; what he got instead was evidence of treason.

Showing a level of judgment uncommon in men of his age and disposition, and certainly not inherited from his father, Allar had abandoned his blackmail scheme. Instead, he had taken Lord Seluran’s papers to a certain nondescript man, a regular of a certain drinking establishment, who the previously well-heeled Allar had understood to have certain connections, and declared his intention to convey said papers to the proper authorities - namely, and ultimately, the Master of Intelligence himself.

Having thus demonstrated judgment, subtlety, and a willingness to suspend both his personal dignity and a variety of scruples in service of a sufficient cause, Allar had shown all the qualities of an excellent intelligence operative. Tahros’s deputy, to whom the man in the bar reported, had wasted no time in recruiting him. Allar, whose only remaining alternative was outright prostitution, accepted instantly. His past few months had been spent in the Tower’s various training courses, along with several other aspiring agents.

Historically, graduating trainees were personally reviewed by the Master of Intelligence before receiving their first formal assignments, and Tahros had continued this tradition. The Tower of Ravens was not so large that one could lose people in it - at least, not by accident - but he had found, over the years, that maintaining a personal touch throughout his organization of professional liars and assassins was the best way to deter his subordinates from developing loftier ambitions at his own expense. 

Occasionally, Tahros’s “personal touch” was rather more literal. He considered this a perk of his rank, which he had won by years of hard work, dedication to the Emperor, and a certain disregard for traditional morals. It didn’t tend to effect morale; his Ravens were, by and large, pragmatic people, with a keen sense of how power and influence could be used, and traded, and acquired. They generally didn’t hesitate to do even intimate favors for the man who controlled their career and assignments, and who had the ear of the Emperor into the bargain. 

Of course, if they did hesitate, Tahros had ways of encouraging their cooperation. One of his favorite tools in that regard was a small vial of clear red liquid, which had pride of place in one of his locked desk drawers. The rare civilian treatise that mentioned it called it “Aching Heart,” though that wasn’t the body part primarily affected. The Tower chemists who brewed it called it “Slut’s Cordial,” which, though vulgar, was rather more accurate. It was a powerful aphrodisiac, which played on the nerves and hormones of its victim to reduce even the most stoic celibate to a writhing, needy mess. It also had the convenient side effect of considerably increasing the target’s sensitivity, over and above that of normal arousal. It had never failed to make an encounter exceptionally enjoyable - for Tahros, at least.

It had been some time since his last such indulgence. The Tower had been busy, and Tahros knew better than to disturb his subordinates in the middle of their work. But the newly-initiated trainees had no work to speak of, until he assigned it to them. It was a perfect opportunity, and one he certainly intended to take advantage of.

Tower personnel files, like the one Tahros had in front of him now, did not include pictures, for security reasons. Tahros was therefore struck by Allar’s general affect all over again, as his newest subordinate knocked sharply on his office door, and then entered. Their meeting time had, apparently, arrived.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Allar’s short bow was perfectly appropriate, but his languid smile and hooded gaze would have been more at home in the front parlor of a brothel than the nexus of the Empire’s intelligence network. The youth would have to work on that; perhaps Tahros could compile some instructional material himself.

Or perhaps not, if he wanted Allar to actually learn something, rather than continually getting… sidetracked.

“Yes, Allar. Come in.” Unlike his new recruit, Tahros was an experienced professional. He limited himself to a quick once-over of the length of Allar’s body - a purely professional evaluation, noting for his records, and definitely not for any prurient reasons, the muscle tone and lithe grace of movement that several months of the best training in the Empire could provide - before signaling him to sit down.

Allar sat, in the indicated chair across the expanse of Tahros’s desk. He was sitting mostly straight, leaning just a little on one arm, but he still managed to give the impression of draping himself over it. If Tahros thought he were doing it on purpose, he would almost be impressed.

“As you know,” Tahros began, “this meeting constitutes your graduation, of sorts. I will review your file, check that you have met the Tower’s requirements, ask you any remaining questions, and ultimately, if I am satisfied, sign your final certification - and the authorization for your full pay - and issue you your first assignment. My deputies have already reviewed your case, of course; generally speaking, this is a formality only.”

Across the desk, Allar nodded. “Yes, sir.” He was no doubt particularly anxious for the pay raise. Senior operatives could be very well-compensated indeed, but inexperienced ones were not, and trainees only collected half the starting pay until they graduated. The former socialite hadn’t gone hungry for the past few months, unless he’d been an idiot, but rent on anything more exalted than a room in a flophouse would have been a considerable challenge.

Tahros flipped open the file on his desk, and made a show of going through it. This step was never entirely necessary - his deputies were all too good at their jobs to refer someone deficient for graduation - but in this case, going line by line through Allar’s completed requirements was the only way to discover the “discrepancy” that was the real reason for the meeting.

“Well,” he said finally, letting the file fall open to the desk. “This generally looks to be in order. There is one thing, however, that appears to be missing.”

Allar tensed. “Yes, sir?”

“In view of your particular… area of expertise, within the Tower, and the likely character of your assignments, it was decided that you should undergo an additional specialized training course,” Tahros said. “Unfortunately, it seems to have slipped off of your curriculum. I can’t graduate you without it.”

Allar’s eyes widened, though very subtly; control of one’s facial expressions was one of the first lessons fledgling Ravens learned, and despite his persistent bedroom eyes, apparently some of it had penetrated. “Training in what, sir? Is there any possibility I could… test out, somehow? Without taking the time to go through a full course? I’m very, ah, eager to get to work at once.”

“The training was to be in aphrodisiac resistance,” Tahros said, keeping his face blankly professional. 

Allar’s lips parted, but he said nothing. His poker face couldn’t hope to rival Tahros’s, but his lack of reaction was nonetheless admirable. 

“As for the possibility of testing out…” Tahros sighed, as though he were thinking deeply about whether he could possibly cut corners, on such an important matter. “I suppose that might be possible. After all, if your resistance is adequate already, a full training course may not be warranted in the first place. Of course, this should have been taken care of before - but it may be possible to make allowances.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hmm.” Tahros leaned back on the arm of his chair, supporting his chin in one hand, and examined Allar. He wanted to let him stew, just a bit. It would build his anticipation, and add a layer to Tahros’s plausible deniability. Not that he really needed it, but the Emperor did like to avoid the appearance of using one’s office for personal gratification, where possible.

When the man across from him was looking suitable disconcerted, under his newly-acquired professional mask, Tahros broke the silence.

“I may have a solution,” he said. “It’s unorthodox, but it would satisfy me that you fulfill the basic requirement, if you pass - and as that is the fundamental consideration, I would consider it sufficient to sign off on your certification immediately.”

Allar looked up. “Immediately?” he asked, with some alarm. “You mean, right now?”

“Just so,” Tahros replied. “You wanted to walk out of here a full agent, did you not? That may still be possible, if you cooperate.”

Allar hesitated, but only briefly. “Of course, sir,” he said. “What did you have in mind?”

Tahros allowed himself to smile. “I have a fully stocked apothecary in my office,” he said. “For emergencies. It happens to contain at least one substance that can function as an aphrodisiac. I can examine you now, and if, as I said, your resistance is adequate, you’ll pass, and I’ll sign your certification as planned.”

Allar drew in a breath, eyes darting around the room in thought. They landed on the sideboard behind Tahros, which contained, among other things, a teapot on a warming plate. Normally, Tahros preferred coffee, but larger amounts of caffeine could have interesting effects when combined with Slut’s Cordial, and he hadn’t wanted to leave anything to chance.

“I didn’t realize you’d be… examining me yourself, sir,” Allar said finally, his eyes returning to Tahros’s face. They were, at last, unreadable; Tahros couldn’t tell if he was merely surprised, or actively disturbed, by this development. 

Good. Tahros hadn’t gone to all this trouble just to get a bedwarmer out of it, after all, even a very pretty one. He had high standards for his Ravens, and he would have been very disappointed if, after all this training, Allar had failed to meet them.

“Of course, ordinarily one of your instructors would have done it, during the usual training period,” Tahros said smoothly, in reply. “But under the circumstances…” He shrugged. “You’re the last of the trainees to graduate, and they’ve all moved on to other assignments. Who knows when they’ll be available again?”

Without waiting for Allar’s answer, he turned in his chair to retrieve the teapot, and two delicate porcelain cups, from the sideboard. He poured for both of them, just to continue some facade of politeness, and then reached under the neckline of his tunic to retrieve the key to his desk drawer. Ignoring Allar, he quickly fished the vial of aphrodisiac from its box, held it up to the light to check for deterioration - there was none - and then, in one smooth motion, uncorked the vial and poured half of it into Allar’s tea.

He was being a bit precipitous, but it was basic interrogation procedure, really. If he gave Allar time to think, he might come up with some other option, and that was the last thing Tahros wanted. 

Allar’s bedroom eyes had sharpened, and he was looking vaguely skeptical. “Is this a standard part of the curriculum, then, sir?” he asked carefully.

“It’s not a universal experience,” Tahros replied. “But in your case, I decided it would be necessary.”

Allar narrowed his eyes at the porcelain cup in front of him, but said nothing. He was no ingenue, not before his training and certainly not now. He knew enough of men, and politics, and power, to recognize a play when he saw one. It didn’t mean he could do anything about it, however.

“Do I have a choice?” he asked, the barest hint of an edge coming through his smile.

“Of course you do,” Tahros replied blandly. “You can drink your tea, or you can leave. Without your certification.”

Allar sighed, and shot Tahros a smoldering look from under his brows that might have been either anger, or arousal. Then he picked up the cup, downed the contents in one go, and replaced it on the table with more than necessary force.

Tahros merely watched him. The Cordial wasn’t instantaneous, but the initial onset normally took only a few moments. The effects would start subtle, and build from there, generally beginning with a flush of heat and the first levels of increased sensitivity. The arousal itself would follow after, faster if encouraged. He certainly planned to encourage it.

Across the table, Allar sucked in a breath, and reached up almost involuntarily to undo the top button of his tunic. That would be the beginning of the flush of heat, then. 

Tahros allowed himself to smirk, briefly. “Would you like some help with that, Kyrol?” he asked idly, watching Allar’s fingers play indecively around the fasteners. “I’ll give you a hint; the point of aphrodisiac resistance is not to resist the arousal - that’s impossible. You merely have to resist any arousal-induced willingness to break your cover, or divulge sensitive information. So I won’t be testing you on your ability to hold back your responses - merely your words. You can manage that, surely?”

Allar wrinkled his nose slightly, clearly preoccupied with the internal sensations.

“If not,” Tahros added, “we can always do it again, until you can. It would delay your certification, though, so I do hope you make an effort.”

Allar’s eyes narrowed, but the rest of his face couldn’t quite follow, in his developing condition. The resulting expression looked more ecstatic than skeptical. 

“Now,” Tahros continued, “while we wait for that to take full effect, why don’t you take off your clothes, so we can get started?”

Allar’s look in response was vaguely mutinous. It looked like the heat and sensitivity from the Cordial were beginning to build, but the discomfort the chafing of his tunic and trousers must be causing was clearly outdone by his increasing discomfort with his superior. The balance would tip back fairly shortly, though. All Tahros had to do was wait.

“I can always tie you up and cut them off you,” Tahros said, almost sweetly. “But I’m afraid I don’t have any extras in your size. I’m sure you can do the rest of that analysis.”

Allar made a noise that was probably meant to signify disgust, but came out as more of a choked groan. He stood abruptly, his fingers flying back to his tunic buttons. Even with a bit of sensitivity-induced trembling, he made short work of them, and was soon pulling the tunic over his head to drop to the floor, immediately forgotten. Allar gasped in relief once he was free of the garment - it was undoubtedly some cheap fabric with a rough weave, increasingly unbearable on his oversensitive skin - and started immediately on his trousers.

Tahros watched him for a moment, pleased with the apparent progress of the aphrodisiac’s effects, and then reached down to open another locked drawer in his desk. This one was much larger, and it contained, among other things, a jar of oil, a feather, and several lengths of soft, white rope. Despite what he’d just told Allar, he fully intended to tie the man up regardless of whether he undressed himself. First, he didn’t entirely trust Allar to continue cooperating before the arousal fully took over, and second, he simply enjoyed it. And that was the entire point of this, after all.

In the time it took Tahros to retrieve these items and make his way around the expanse of his desk, Allar had finished undressing. Everything he had been wearing was crumpled on the floor, and Allar himself was leaning on the back of his chair and panting slightly. Tahros looked him over appreciatively. He was gloriously naked, covered only in a fine sheen of sweat from the effects of the Cordial. His skin glowed with it; Tahros thought it would make a lovely contrast against the rope.

“Sit down,” he said, gesturing to an armchair behind Allar, against the wall of the room. It, and the other similar chairs around the periphery, were usually reserved for important conferences of state, on the rare occasions those were held in the Tower rather than the Palace. Its luxury would serve a rather different purpose now.

Allar looked back at the armchair, but hesitated rather than immediately moving towards it.

Tahros narrowed his eyes, and stepped forward, taking Allar’s chin in one hand. “I said, _sit down_ ,” he repeated, putting more steel into his voice and expression than he’d yet had to use. Without giving Allar time to contemplate the idea of disobedience, he put his other hand in the center of his chest and shoved, sending him sprawling directly back into the waiting arms of the chair.

Allar might have wanted to object to the manhandling, but he didn’t get the chance. His surprise at the move was immediately overtaken by the sensation of the chair’s upholstery on his naked body. It was velvet, and Tahros knew from experience that it was quite soft; it was for visiting VIPs, not reporting subordinates. Usually.

Under the influence of the increased sensitivity from the Cordial, Allar spent several moments simply writhing against the fabric, feeling the deep pile move against his skin in almost a caress, before he was able to collect himself. 

Tahros took advantage of his subordinate’s distraction to secure each of his ankles to the chair legs, with two of the lengths of rope. Lost in the sensations on the rest of his skin, Allar barely noticed until he had finished, and stepped back.

“What?” he said, confused, and tried to move his feet away. He was unsuccessful, of course; all he did was set off another round of sensation reaction from the texture of the rope.

Tahros smirked at him, and moved in again to wrap another length of rope around his shoulder, lacing through the carved frame of the chair to keep him upright against the back.

Allar started struggling against him in earnest, though no more successfully. “What are you doing? What is this?”

Tahros finished securing his other shoulder, and stepped back again. Allar’s wrists were still free, for now, but as the knots at his ankles and behind his shoulders were out of his reach in this position, they might as well be tied.

“This is an interrogation, Kyrol,” Tahros said lightly, almost mockingly. “What did you think I would do? I can’t test your resistance without a suitable scenario.”

“Who feeds someone an aphrodisiac in order to interrogate them, and then ties them to a chair to leave them alone?” Allar ground out. His increasing frustration was obvious.

“Oh, I don’t intend to leave you alone, Kyrol,” Tahros said. “That would, as you say, defeat the purpose.” And he stepped forward to pinch one of Allar’s pebbled nipples hard between his fingertips, pulling it sharply out from his chest.

Allar gasped in sudden shock and arousal, and his hands flew up to his chest. Tahros let go of his nipple to intercept them.

“Ah, ah, none of that,” he said. “Let’s finish with this part, first.” And he retrieved the remaining two lengths of rope to tie Allar’s wrists.

“Now,” Tahros said, when he had finished. “Let’s see exactly how sensitive you’ve become, Kyrol. All information is useful somehow, after all. I’m sure Deputy Selesh taught you that at some point.”

Tahros retrieved the feather from the desk, and twirled it in his hands, examining Allar. He was probably expecting Tahros to start with his nipples, after that first display, but that would be much too direct. Instead, Tahros stepped forward, and ran the tip of the feather lightly down Allar’s shoulder, starting at the edge of the ropes there and ending at the ropes around his wrist.

Allar shivered, his mouth falling open and his head rolling back, but he managed to keep from making any noise.

Tahros repeated the gesture on his other arm, keeping the touch as light as possible.

This time, Allar gasped when the feather touched him, and whined when it lifted away. Tahros considered this a sign of progress.

“What are the security protocols for the Tower of Ravens?” he asked idly, setting the feather aside and carding his hands through Allar’s hair. He didn’t really expect an answer, but he ought to keep up appearances, at least a little. Once the Cordial had really done its work, Allar would be too far gone to pay attention to much of anything beyond his own sensations, and then Tahros could drop what was left of the act.

Allar surprised him, though. “Fuck you!” he managed, through teeth clenched against a moan. “You won’t get what you want out of me, you lecherous asshole!”

Tahros found a genuine smile curling his lips. “Getting into the scenario, are we, _agent?_ I’m sure that wasn’t actual insubordination I was hearing. But, very well, if you prefer realism…”

Keeping one hand in Allar’s hair to hold him still, Tahros drew back his other hand, and slapped Allar hard across the face. With his hair in Tahros’s fist, his head couldn’t snap all the way to the side, but the blow was hard enough that the _crack_ echoed off the wall behind them nonetheless.

Allar gasped out a strangled sob. Tahros let him have a moment to compose himself, if he could, but the expression on Allar’s face, when he turned it back to him, was beautiful. It was a combination of pain, arousal, residual defiance, and now, for the first time since Allar had entered his office, a growing hint of fear.

“Lovely,” Tahros said, letting Allar see in return, also for the first time, the full measure of his own very personal satisfaction. He was going to amuse himself with Allar exactly as he liked until the Cordial wore off, because he wanted to, and he could, and there was absolutely nothing Allar could do about it. It would be interesting to see whether this realization would make Allar more defiant, or more resigned. “Let’s try that again, shall we? You make the most captivating noises.”

Tahros waited a moment, for the pain to fade back into arousal, and then slapped Allar again, producing another pained gasp. And again, after another pause. And again. Each time, Allar’s responses grew louder, and increasingly more plaintive and confused. At the fifth slap, he actually moaned, choking off whatever more verbal response he’d been about to make instead.

“Hmm?” Tahros prompted. “What was that, Kyrol? Speak up, I didn’t hear you. Not the security protocols, by any chance?”

“Please!” Allar gasped out.

“Oh?” Delighted, Tahros took Allar’s chin in his hand, and turned his face back towards his own. “Please what, Kyrol? What exactly would you like?”

But Allar only looked at him dumbly, shivering at Tahros’s touch on his face. “I…” he managed, before trailing off. “It doesn’t…” He gave up, closing his eyes against the sensation. With a moan, he angled his head in Tahros’s hand, rubbing his cheek against the palm.

Tahros smiled in satisfaction. That was surely the full extent of the Cordial’s arousal coming online; any further resistance would be unlikely, and completely futile. Having done this sort of thing before, he also knew that the application of minor pain or discomfort during the induction phase could produce some interesting effects on the subject’s responses for the rest of the Cordial’s duration. That was probably what Allar had been trying to get at: “it doesn’t hurt,” or something similar. The slaps to his face had rewired his response to that sort of pain; if he hadn’t been a masochist before, he was now. At least temporarily.

This was handy, because alternating between pleasure, and confusingly pleasurable pain, was the surest way to break a subject’s resistance in the moment, and persuade them to abandon defiance for the pleasure of arousal. Accordingly, Tahros let go of Allar’s hair, and instead reached a hand down to his cock, to provide more positive reinforcement.

“Oh,” said Allar brokenly, when his hand touched him. “Oh, I, _please_ , it’s…” He trailed off incoherently, panting more and more loudly as Tahros stroked him slowly towards completion.

And then he stopped. 

Achingly frustrated, Allar tossed his head back against the chair and whined loudly, writhing in the ropes. Tahros watched his lovely agony approvingly.

“What are the security protocols for the Tower of Ravens, Kyrol?” he asked again, when Allar’s writhing had stilled a bit. “If you tell me, I might let you come next time.”

Allar’s only response was a sullen glare, its intensity marred somewhat by the way he kept arching his neck from the sensations.

“Very well,” Tahros said. “Let’s try again.” And he reached down again to tease Allar’s straining cock back to the edge, ignoring the man’s choked groan of objection.

This was not, of course, a standard interrogation technique - though there were certain subjects on whom it might actually work rather well - but Tahros had always found it much more enjoyable than the version with actual thumbscrews. He wasn’t that level of sadist - this version of torture, with its grudging pleasure and confused frustration, tangling the mind of his subject until he could pull it taut in any direction he chose, was much more his speed. 

Tahros went through three more rounds of pushing Allar to the edge, only to pull back and leave him wanting. His cock was a very dark red, now, and almost continuously dripping precum. It looked deliciously uncomfortable. Tahros was growing hard himself, in his trousers, and Allar was on the verge of breaking down entirely.

“Please,” he begged, the word slipping out of his mouth over and over again, seemingly without his permission. “Please, sir, please, I’ll tell you anything, please let me come.”

“Anything?” Tahros taunted lightly. “Even the security protocols?”

Allar bit his lip and sobbed, but said nothing.

“Hmm. Pity,” Tahros said. “I suppose I’ll have to try something else.”

Allar was sagging against the ropes, now, his will to struggle completely sapped by the arousal of the Cordial, and Tahros’s ruthless encouragement of it. He moaned and writhed when Tahros’s hands slid against him to untie the ropes, but made no move to resist or run. It was relatively easy for Tahros to get him to his feet and prod him back across the office to the desk; the main obstacle to their progress was Allar’s attempts to rub up against him like a cat in heat on the way.

The surface of the desk was well-polished wood, with a thick layer of resin that glowed in the light and softened the edges and corners. Nevertheless, it was not nearly as comfortable as the armchair, and Allar protested slightly when Tahros bent him over it, sweeping aside the few papers in the way.

“Hush,” Tharos said, keeping a hand on Allar’s back to hold him down. “I’ll give you something else to feel in a moment.” He retied Allar in this new position, wrists and ankles fixed at the various corners of the desk. The ties had more give than they had in the chair, allowing Allar to shift or struggle if he wished, but he certainly wasn’t getting up without Tahros’s permission.

Tahros stepped back, leaving Allar to try to find a comfortable position for his oversensitive body, and considered his options. He would have liked to use his subordinate’s lovely mouth, but he didn’t quite trust the safety of that option, even with Allar so far under the influence of the Cordial. There were any number of other pleasures to be had, however, especially in this position.

Coming to a decision, Tahros reached down to unbuckle his belt. The embossed leather was soft and pliable, but more than sturdy enough for its intended use here.

Removing the belt, Tahros doubled it over in his hand, and then stepped back to Allar to fist a hand in his hair.

“Are you ready?” he asked, rhetorically. “This should certainly distract you from how hard the desk is.”

Allar merely groaned in confused arousal. He was distracted enough already, it seemed.

Tahros let go of his hair, and stepped back to find the right position, before swinging the belt. It connected with the meat of Allar’s ass, sending a sharp _crack_ around the room, and driving a choked cry out of Allar’s throat.

Tahros smirked, and did it again, and again. Allar’s responses became increasingly incoherent, riding the edge between distress and enjoyment, and his cries were music to Tahros’s ears.

When Allar’s ass was cherry red, and giving off enough heat for Tahros to feel several ilnches away, Tahros set the belt down on the desk and picked up the jar of oil.

“Did you enjoy that?” he asked, curious if Allar could even answer at this point.

“ _Please_ ,” Allar whined brokenly. It sounded as if weren’t quite sure whether he was begging Tahros to go on, or to stop.

His moan when Tahros pressed a slick finger inside him was much less ambiguous. 

It took some time for Tahros to adequately prepare Allar for his cock; not only did he not want to actually injure his subordinate, he also wanted to avoid making him come until the last possible minute, and the effects of the Cordial did not make that easy. Several times, he had to pull his fingers out completely and simply watch, stroking his own cock in anticipation, as Allar writhed and begged in frustration, pulling at the ropes and trying unsuccessfully to rub his cock against the desk. It made a very pretty scene, and by the time Allar was stretched enough, Tahros was getting almost as impatient himself.

Sliding his cock into the slick heat of Allar’s ass made them both groan. Once he was all the way in, Tahros paused - not out of consideration for Allar, but simply so that he didn’t come himself before he had a chance to fuck the man. His foreplay didn’t have quite the same punch of arousal as Allar’s chemical enhancements, but it had been more than enough.

Gathering the dregs of his self-control, Tahros braced one hand on Allar’s hip, and the other on the desk, and began to move. A slow slide in and out quickly gave way to shorter, sharper thrusts, as the pleasures of the evening finally caught up with him, urging him on to climax. Eventually, he was bent over Allar completely, one hand on the other edge of the desk and the other buried in Allar’s hair, bending his neck up to bite at this throat while his hips thrust wildly.

Either the changed angle brought Allar’s cock in contact with the desk at last, or perhaps it was merely the Cordial-heightened pleasure of Tahros’s cock in his ass, but Allar suddenly clenched around him and came, spurting down the side of the desk and letting out a cry that was almost a scream. The sudden pressure on his cock set Tahros off as well, and his hips stuttered a few more times, working through his orgasm as he collapsed on top of Allar.

After a long moment of breathing heavily, Tahros pulled out of Allar and dragged himself upright. 

Allar lay where he was, sprawled bonelessly across the desk, eyes only half open. He made a very pretty picture, with his hair completely disarranged and his red ass joined by a new handprint on his hip, but Tahros was too drained to be remotely interested. 

Instead, he undid the ropes around Allar’s wrists and ankles and dragged him off the desk - with some difficulty, as he was still completely limp - to deposit him back in the armchair. With Allar out of the way, Tahros cleaned himself up as much as possible, and retrieved his own tunic and trousers. It would be best to regain his own composure before his subordinate came back to his senses.

In the end, Tahros had time not only to redress, but to retrieve and sign Allar’s final certification paperwork, and to reorganize most of the main file from the disarray of having been knocked to the floor, before Allar stirred again.

When Tahros looked up, his subordinate was glaring at him from the armchair. He was still clearly enjoying the texture, but no longer aroused enough to be happy about it.

Tahros returned his gaze. “Congratulations,” he said mildly. “You passed.”

Allar’s eyes narrowed. “And my certification?”

Tahros merely held up the completed form in response.

Without another word, Allar stood up from the armchair, swaying on his feet only slightly. Tossing his hair back from his forehead, he went to retrieve his clothes from the floor. The last vestige of the aphrodisiac was still coursing through Allar’s system, and he moved like a disgruntled cat: continually distracted by the feel of the cloth on his skin, and simultaneously annoyed and resigned at his own reactions.

Tahros watched him dress, nursing his now cold tea. “You can come back tomorrow for your first assignment,” he said idly. “And I do hope you’ll get any insubordination out of your system before then. It would be a shame if I had to discipline you so early in your very promising career.”

“Yes, sir,” Allar said, face implacable. And then he strode to the door, shut it behind him, and was gone.

Alone in his office, Tahros sighed. Such an attitude on the man. This was what he got for recruiting from the nobility, even the penniless and disgraced. Well, Allar did work for him now, and he’d learn his place soon enough. And if that required additional lessons from the Master of Intelligence, Tahros wasn’t truly opposed.


End file.
